


Millennium Rider, Ride On

by manyafukudere (Manya_Kami)



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst, Cloud-centric, Drabble Collection, Flashbacks, Immortal!Cloud, Multi, Not my AU, Set far in the future, Surrealism, introspective, very short drabbles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-05 11:24:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13386795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manya_Kami/pseuds/manyafukudere
Summary: “Just a boy and his bike alone on the road, with no destination in sight. You’d ride forever!”





	1. Lightning House

**Author's Note:**

> Both Immortal!Cloud, and his design in this fic, are not mine. 
> 
> The entirety of the AU belongs to @waifujuju on tumblr. 
> 
> I'm merely borrowing it, and tweaking it some; while her Cloud lives in Cosmo Canyon, the one in this story lives... nowhere.

“Hey, kiddo. Pick it up, will ya? It’s closin’ time, soon.”

“Sure, sure. I’ll be out soon. I’ll even help you clean; so don’t you worry none, Mister Slone.”

Slone (or rather, ‘Mister Slone,’ as he preferred), the weary, crotchety old bartender and owner of the Lightning House, merely snorted in response. He was a swear-er and a fighter, but he was in his heart an understanding man. If the kid was willing to help with clean up just to get a few more moments alone with his liquor, then so be it.

From his post behind the bar, he eyed the kid who sat alone and smiling on the stool in the corner. If Slone could read smiles better he’d think it's one of those sad smiles, the kind that you got from age and maybe one too many nights and days spent on your own. But he wasn’t all that confident in his smile-reading abilities - so Slone said nothing.

The kid made a humming noise, and swished his liquor in the glass. “I’ll be leaving Midgar soon.”

“Oh? How soon?”

“Tomorrow.”

Slone’s eyes widened, and he paused in his motions of wiping down the bar to stare. The kid had been a loyal patron to Lightning House since it’d opened, a little over twenty years ago.

The funny thing about the kid was, unlike Lightning House and unlike Slone, he hadn’t aged a day since.

“What made you decide to go and do a crazy thing like that?”

“I think… I’ve lived here for a terribly long time, Slone. Don’t you think I should go?”

It was always so strange, to Slone. That kid would show up, long after everyone else had gone, on that rowdy bike of his. He’d order one shot of hard whiskey and nurse it for hours.

Every night for twenty years.

“Go where? Do ya have a destination in mind?”

“Go anywhere. I don’t really care for the specifics, so long as it's away from here.”

He asked him, once. The first time Slone had worked it up in him to talk to that odd kid with his mis-matched eyes and two-toned hair and his crazy bike, he’d asked him why he bothered coming to Lightning House at all.

And the kid looked at him with those eyes, those eyes too old and too sad for his liking, and said, _”I’ve come and gone to a lot of bars. But I think I like this one the best; you remind me a lot of someone I used to know, Slone Highwind.”_

“I’ll bet you’re takin’ that crazy bike o’ yours, aren’t ya? Ha! Just a boy and his bike alone on the road, with no destination in sight. You’d ride forever!”

And the kid smiled that sad smile again, and he kicked back the last swig of his liquor. He removed himself from his seat and walked to Slone, handing him the empty glass.

“Maybe I will.”

He moved then to begin picking up the barstools, but Slone couldn’t stand there and watch him.

This kid; this funny-looking kid who hadn’t aged a day in all of twenty-years; this kid who, when you looked at him real’ good you got the feeling you were looking at something important; this kid who would soon vanish just as mysteriously as he’d appeared, well - he wasn’t meant to be picking up barstools.

“Hey, hey, you don’t - you don't need to do that. I’ll pick it all up. You just - get outta here, alright, kiddo?”

The kid blinked, then smiled, and stood alright, gathering his bearings and making his way to the door.

He opened it, and turned to Slone, and said, “Thank you. Good bye now, Mister Slone.”

Slone turned from his barstools and smirked at the kid. “G’bye to you too, Cloud Strife.”

The door closed.

And as he cleaned the bar, Slone Highwind heard the roaring of a crazy bike in the night. 

 

 


	2. Thinking and Thoughts; Thoughts about Riding

That wasn’t the first time Cloud left Midgar with no destination in mind.

In fact, going out for rides, even back then, was a frequent occurrence. It was good for him, he thought, to get away from Tifa and Denzel and the tiny walls of Seventh Heaven. To just get out, and let his mind wander for a bit, without the constant threat of running into any bitter memories.

The Cloud of several centuries later had grown to appreciate it all a bit more, of course. There was the regret and the guilt that came with outliving friends and family, naturally. Everyone experienced that.

_I should’ve given Tifa the family she’d wanted._

_I should’ve spent more time with Denzel._

Of course, it was all hindsight bias. He witnessed both of their deaths, of course.

Denzel was first. It was unforeseen and wholly unexpected. While Midgar had been improving at that time, it certainly wasn’t perfect, and creeps still hid in the shadows of the former slum. On a typical day in which Denzel walked from school, one of those creeps crept out.

They’d found his body covered in slashes.

It was horrible, but it happened. Marlene wept for days and Tifa wept behind closed doors and Cloud - well, Cloud went out for a ride.

Tifa passed in the night. She’d lived long, lived happy, at least, for the most part. Then at sixty-two years she’d caught an awful bug, some wild thing that ran her temperature to the sun and made her feverish and delusional.

She’d died believing Cloud was her husband.

Barret and Marlene had come in time for the funeral, and Reeve, Yuffie, and Cid showed up too long after. It didn’t matter.

Cloud had gone out for a ride.

Riding did something to you, Cloud theorized. It was something about the rumble between your legs and the wind scraping your cheeks and the endless expansive of road before you.

Out on the road, there was nothing to focus on. Nothing except, perhaps, the amount of gas in your tank and the cries of monsters nearby.

With so little to focus on, you got to thinking. Yup, lots and lots of thinking.

Thoughts about everything. Thoughts about things and people and feelings and events and places and memories and questions, both answered and unanswered.

And when you did so much thinking, you tended to get philosophical. Introspective. Thinking made you into the kind of person that looked a little deeper into things that weren’t often looked deep into.

Cloud didn’t jump at the thought of him becoming one of those people. Questions were fine and all, but asking enough of them would surely turn you crazy. And crazy was another thing that Cloud didn’t jump at the thought of being. In fact, it was quite a thing Cloud decided he did _not_ want to be.

So Cloud kept such thoughts reserved for riding. Riding was a time for thinking, when your thoughts could flow freely, and when the ride was over, you were still sane.

But this was a new kind of ride.

The kind that would never end.

Cloud then and there resigned himself to his fate, that thinking would make him crazy, because crazy was something he’d undoubtedly become eventually and he decided that it was better to become so from riding.

This wasn’t the first time Cloud left Midgar with no destination in mind - sure. But it would undeniably be the last, because this time, he wasn’t going back to Midgar, and if he never went back to Midgar, then he would, naturally, never leave it.

Yes, a lot of thinking, these rides brought. 


	3. First Night

When Cloud finally parked his bike it was long past dark and he’d been driving for hours, and it was because his braid had damn near almost gotten caught in the wheels.

So he parked it, and he grabbed some things; his cell phone, an old quilt, and brush, and he meandered down the sloped hill leading away from the road.

There was nothing out here on these roads, nothing at all. For all the effort everyone had put into building and re-building Midgar over and over again, Cloud sure thought it dumb that the areas outside were still so undeveloped.

The road cut through the country but even the road was old, and dusty, and covered in enough sharp rocks to pop a tire. It was a road made for traveling, and traveling alone. You drove through this place, not to this place.

But Cloud wasn’t driving to anyway at the moment, and this spot on the dusty country hill was just as good as any to rest for the night. It was a bit like going camping.

Or perhaps, a bit like the nights AVALANCHE spent outside.

Setting his things down beside him, Cloud situated himself atop a smooth grey rock - or at least, the smoothest grey rock there was out here - and took a look at what he was dealing with.

His braid had partially come undone, but that was expected, he supposed, with how fast he’d been driving.

It was tangled and knotted at the bottom, however, where it had nearly gotten stuck inside the wheel.

He worked his fingers through the tangled mass, attempting to undo the braid, and mercilessly yanking on the faded silver strands. It hurt like hell, and Cloud wondered again why he hadn’t just chopped it all off when it started colouring, but really - he knew the answer to that.

It was his mark, his battle scar, his proof that he’d fought long and strong. It was his reminder of the hardships he’d endured in his first life, and it was his warning to others of what comes from getting involved with things you know nothing about. It was important.

Or, maybe he’d just always had a soft spot for long, silver hair.

But that was a thought for another night.

When he _finally_ finished untying his braid he wrapped around his wrist the pink ribbon that had held it together. Aeris’s ribbon.

It hurt, still, a little. But after witnessing so many deaths of so many loved ones, a little hurt was a little like nothing.

Oh Shiva, he’s really got to keep clear of such somber thoughts so late at night.

He gathered up the quilt he’d brought - a thick, log-cabin style quilt with pieces of blue and purple and green, that Tifa’d made in her later years when she’d taken up quilting as something of a hobby - and brought the whole thing around his body, creating yet another barrier between him and the outside world.

Tomorrow, Cloud would ride again.

Until then, he’d try and sleep while facing the stars, just as he had before, so long ago.

 

 


	4. Fever Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weird chapter

There was something undeniably strange about Seventh Heaven, and Cloud could not quite decide what it was. 

The nighttime rush had thickened the place and crowded the tables, and the whole place smelled homely, like Tifa’s cooking.

Tifa’s cooking… how long had it been since he’d eaten anything Tifa’d cooked for him?

  
_“Now, now, that’s nonsense. Let me up, Cloud. I’ve gotta go and cook you dinner. What kinda wife I’d be if I didn’t cook my own husband his dinner! Let me_ up _, Cloud!”_

“Cloud!”

  
Someone was calling to him through the crowd; a voice, through the throngs of all the other voices, singling him out alone.

  
Who was it?

  
Cloud soon found himself facing the bar and facing the face of the voice that’d called out to him, the face of Zack Fair.

  
“Zack…? What’re you…?”

  
His comrade smiled at him, and laughed that hearty laugh that felt so comfortable in the drums of his ears.

  
“What am I what? I’m here for the booze, Spike!”

  
_“I go for the booze, Spike! And the Turks know where all the best booze is at!”_

  
That’s right…

  
Reno. Zack always went drinking with Reno. Was he here too?

  
Cloud moved with the intent of just turning his head and looking around, but something about him was funny, and everything seemed to move in slow motion, as though he was moving through water. First his neck turned, and then his torso, and his arms would’ve been next if it wasn’t for the cold, wet hand that latched onto his arm.

  
“Cloud!”

  
The voice sounded the same as Zack’s, except that it wasn’t at all.

  
Cloud soon found himself none other than Aeris, smiling, jubilant and beautiful, just as she’d always been. Except that she was soaking wet.

  
“Don’t worry, silly,” She told him, seemingly reading his mind. “It’s only raining outside!”

  
_“What are you going on about, silly? It never rains in the slums!”_

  
The slums. Seventh Heaven was in the slums.

  
It had been, at least. Was it still there?

He couldn't remember, for some reason.

  
Seventh Heaven was in the slums.

  
Did it ever rain in the slums?

  
He couldn’t remember, for some reason.

  
And there Cloud was, at the door of Seventh Heaven, about to open it, at least, until it opened from the outside.

  
There stood a little boy, with the same odd voice as Zack Fair and Aeris Gainsborough.

  
“Cloud!”

  
“…Denzel?”

  
“I’m home early, ‘cause school got out early.”

  
_“I'm staying late, at the school today. So I can become smart, like you, Cloud! Don’t worry, Tifa, I’ll be okay; the slums are safe, now!”_

  
It’s safe now.

  
Everything is safe, now.

  
Hadn’t there been a point where it wasn’t?

  
He couldn’t remember, for some reason.

  
“Cloud!”

  
Zack Fair and Aeris Gainsborough and Denzel Strife called to him from behind, speaking through Barret’s big mouth.

  
“We’ve been waiting for you!”

  
_“Hurry it up, will ya?! We’re waiting!”_

  
He’s waiting.

  
_Who’s waiting?_

  
They’re waiting.

  
_For me._

  
There was something undeniably strange about Seventh Heaven, and Cloud belatedly realized that it was him.

  
…

  
…

  
…

  
Cloud awoke that morning to a painful ringing in his ears and tears sliding down his face.

  
It didn’t matter, the wind on his face would blow away th _e_ tears and the rumble of Fenrir the Fortieth would drown out the ringing.

  
Under the pink gaze of the morning sun, Cloud gathered his bearings and headed back towards his bike.

  
He would ride again, today.


	5. The Drive With Kano Kononome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canonical, in-game cities and locations? I don't know her.

Kano Kononome had always been just a little afraid of the prospect of ghosts.

He was of the mindset that once you were dead, you owed it to those still living to _stay_ dead, because though your life may have ended there are still people in the world that are trying to get by _without_ the stress of being haunted.

People like… well, people like Kano Kononome.

And that’s why, when he saw a funny-looking man that he wasn’t quite sure wasn’t dead, hanging on the side of the road next to a puttered-out motorbike, his first instinct was to step of the gas and get the hell outta there.

But then, as he neared that ghost, he thought about what might happen if he _didn’t_ help the wandering spirit. Would he be cursed? Can ghosts curse things? He should hope not. But then again, it’s best not to take that chance.

He pulled his truck over to the side of the road.

“He-Hello there, wandering spirit.” He stuttered, clammering out of the semi’s head and turning to face the ghost, who didn’t seem to have noticed him yet. “I was wondering if - well, I was wondering if you might like a ride.”

The ghost said nothing, still, and, despite every instinct within himself screaming at him to run away, Kano crept forward. He asked the ghost, “Where is it you're try’na get to? I can sure take you there.”

And then the ghost peered up at him from under its wild yellow bangs, one slim, acid green eye boring into Kano’s core, and it answered, “I’m not trying to get to anywhere.” The ghost turned away from Kano and instead faced the road, which was empty for miles. “I just… wanna ride.”

Kano didn't quite get it. “Well, you’re not gonna ride for long with a busted up ol’ bike like that. You need the thing fixed up.”

The ghost chuckled and leant its weight into one hip, the tinted, silver braid that had been previously slung over its shoulder cascading down its back. “Hell yeah, I do. You know any good mechanics?”

Kano fixed his own ballcap, blocking out the sun’s hazy rays. “I know some. I can take you to Folkvangr, it’s not far from here. Get you hooked up with someone who can make your bike nice as new.”

“Folkvangr?”

“That’s right. We’re about 70 kilometers out. ‘T’s where I’m headed.”

The ghost seemed to ponder this for a minute, before it turned to face him wholly from the front. It’s eyes were opposite tones, Kano realized, and that confirmed it. This person, this man - whatever he was, ghost or not, he was undoubtedly inhuman.

“Sounds like a good deal to me.”

And so Kano rigged that crazy ghost bike up to the back of his truck and got himself back into his driver’s seat. The ghost had made itself comfortable in his passanger’s seat, and as he was starting the truck back up he took a moment to study the thing.

It was clearly a man, or at least, it had been when it was alive. Its appearance was strange, otherworldly, and it was dressed in such odd garb. If Kano had any faith in the history lessons his schoolteachers had drilled into him, he’d have guessed the design to be ancient Midgarian.

“So, you ever been to Folkvangr before? You don’t look like you're from here.” Inwardly, Kano wondered if he was losing his wits, and perhaps that’s why he felt it necessary to strike up conversation with a ghost.

It shook its head lightly. “Never even heard of it. Must be new.”

It was to Kano’s knowledge that the place was at least one-hundred years old, but he decided not to press on that. “City of pleasure, they call it. You’re… from Midgar, right?”

“Hnn. You could say that.”

“Then you’ll like it, I'm sure. It’s a lot more developed; lots of new tech.”

The ghost didn't have anything to say to that. The rest of the forty-minute drive went by silently, but not with tension. It was something about the ghost, Kano figured. It cast some kind of… soothing air over the whole truck. Must come with being supernatural, he figured.

Even as Folkvangr came into view against the darkening horizon, its glorious, shimmering skyscrapers kissing the heavens, Kano was not regretting his decision to help out the ghost. In fact, he was glad for it.

It seemed to have conquered his fear after all.

The drove to the best fix-up shop that Kano knew of, and he parked the truck and got out so that he could help the ghost get its bike off the back.

What he hadn't expected, was to see the ghost… holding the bike over its shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

Must come with being supernatural.

The ghost was smiling at him beneath Folkvangr’s neon-luminescent lighting, and there it that moment, it looked truly beautiful. “Thanks a lot.” It told him. “Mister… ?”

“Oh! Ah,” Kano fumbled, reaching out to shake the hand that had been extended to him. “Kano Kononome. That’s - er, that’s me.”

It beamed at him. “Cloud Strife.” It said, giving his hand a firm squeeze and shake, and then it began to walk away.

There was something strangely familiar about that name, as though he’d heard it before in some far-off tale at one time, but Kano couldn’t put his finger on it, even as he drove away from the shop and deeper into the city towards his destination.

It wouldn't be much, much later until he realized.

 

 

 


End file.
